Memoirs of the Monster
by blue-eyedinnocent-sinner
Summary: Rating for mature themes: language, drug use, etc. This is a post-London Calling. I know there are a million of those, but this one will take a VERY dark path. "I screamed out my frustrations, pounding the wall in front of me. I'd never felt anger course through my body this way. It was an impossible strength, and I knew what fueled it. But I couldn't stop. Not this time." R
1. Chapter 1

Hello all! It's been eternity and a half since I posted a new fic, but I've been itching. So here I am. For those of you who've read my stuff before, I hope that my writing has improved, as I've gotten older and more experienced. That being said, I also apologize because this is NOT going to be the happy, sappy romance I normally love. In fact, I have no idea where this story will take me. I'll be along for the ride the same as you, my lovely readers. Please be patient with me.

This story will be very dark. It lurked in the back of my mind for a long time, and I always brushed it off. I thought, 'no, you can't play out your favorite character that way.' But, that's the beauty of fanfiction…you actually _can_ do that. So, here I go, off the deep end, plunging into the dark realms.

This is, as with most my work, a "continuation" story, picking up where the show murdered us…er, left off. And I'm going to twist into a sick sort of insanity that I hope some of you will like. I'm pretty nervous, but it was eating me alive.

Hardcore drug use and abuse, hardcore potty mouths (because I have one myself), and this will also be written in first person, like all my other stuff.

So, without further ado, I present the preface. Give me some feedback and let me know if I should continue down this path.

Thank you everyone, as always!


	2. Preface

I slam the door shut behind me, thankful that I live alone. It was another stressful day at the studio; I've learned that I don't care much for change and I've put myself in a whole mess of it. _Smart move, Harrison_, I think to myself. The adjustments to a new country, a new label, strangers greeting me everywhere I turn, and – though I'll never admit the levels of anguish it causes me – a new producer have turned my life completely upside down. The hurt, the regret and guilt, the homesickness all weighed me down. Everything hurt until I befriended _her._

* * *

It all started with an evening out with a girl I'd met three weeks after moving to London. She was from the States originally, so she sympathized with me about missing home and the things that go with it. Her and I just clicked, though we were such different people. We started hanging out casually, drinking or smoking pot whenever we could. The bliss that went with not being sober thrilled me, calmed me, and was exactly what I was searching for. I wanted to let go of all the things weighing me down, so I opted out, choosing alternate realities.

At first, it was harmless. Partying occasionally, while still keeping my shit together. After all, I had public appearances, media hounds, and studio time to juggle. Laurie and I became close friends, when we weren't partying. We confided in one another. I would become a part of her family. Her mother and sisters even cared for me, which was nice to have, given the broken state my own mother and I left in, given my sister was an ocean away. Laurie's mother was a kind person and talked to me as an equal. Her sisters enjoyed my company. It was impossible not to love them.

My downfall started in late fall. Laurie and I were returning from her sister's place after a night of drinking – and running on a couple hours of sleep. We were exhausted, but not enough to crash. After a transportation mishap, Laurie's mother and her boyfriend agreed to pick us up on their way home. They had an errand to run anyways. Unbeknownst to me, that errand would change my life.

* * *

As I toss my bag and coat down on my dining room table, I grab my phone's charger and bring it with me to my room. I close and lock the door behind me, though nobody can get inside. Old habits die hard. I plug the phone in, allowing it to charge, before changing into beat-up clothes that I prefer to smoke in. I set up my iPod on shuffle, turning the music up a scotch, to drown out the inevitable sounds of a Bic at work.

I grab the case that contains my greatest sins and sit down on my bed. Carefully sliding the zipper, I relish the moment, knowing what's to come. Grabbing the small baggy, I pause to note how much I have left. I'll have to call up Laurie's mom soon enough. The reality is…there's never enough. You always want more. I admire the ridges in the largest shard, before setting it aside to grab a piece of straw, the cold, smooth pipe, and the Bic with the most fluid in it. I find I run out of lighters more often than I ever did smoking pot and cigarettes combined.

I decide to start small, telling myself I'll save the biggest piece. I know I'm only lying to myself. This whole bag will be gone before the night is over. Taking the straw, I slide the smaller shards into the pipe, letting them rest in the bowl. I use the Bic to melt it down, before taking the first hit. By the third, I feel the familiar tingles in my face. I carefully set down my sinful sustenance and reach a hand up to undo the clip my hair is in. I let my fingers tousle my hair, enjoying the tingles coursing through my scalp.

I take two more large hits, before stowing everything in a cabinet next to my bed. I won't completely pack up, as I know Laurie will be calling me shortly. We've a long night ahead of us. I grab a few things and make my way to the bathroom, hoping to wash off what hasn't even begun to sweat out of me yet. I'll splash on perfume and makeup to hide any gauntness that could show. My phone will pick up her call before I'm finished.

I read her text and smile. Yes, another adventurous night with my best friends: Laurie and, of course, Crystal.


End file.
